History and aesthetic of computer animation and virtual reality. Notes on Los Angeles in the 1980s and the computer animation community of that time. Miscellaneous commentary on the archaeology of the cold war, as well as notes on the esoteric knowledge as it manifests in popular culture, cinematic theory, the hollow earth, espionage, corruption in civic governance, the aesthetics of conspiracy theories, the failure of the cultural myth and other related topics.

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Repent! The End is Near!

Prophets of doom rarely made a good
living in the old days. Prophets of happiness and so forth could
count on buying that new goat, wagon, or slave from profits from
grateful customers. But prophets of doom, never. They lived in
caves and wore sackcloth and needed a bath.

I remember reading all the way through
Hemingway's "For Whom the Bell Tolls" before I figured out
what the title meant. (1)

As many of you know, I keep a variety
of doctors employed and off the streets. Because of various
regulations involving the illegal resale of certain attractive
medications, I need to see them every month or so, as the prescriptions are kept on a tight leash. Since I am an
outlyer in various ways, it can be problematic to find a suitable
doctor and therefore, once found, I stay with them for a while. So
I drove to LA to see one of these doctors whom I had been seeing for a decade and they channeled me to
one of his assistants whom I knew and liked because, I assumed, my
doctor was not available. Well, yes, but not the way I thought.

She opened the conversation with "So
let me tell you why you are seeing me today instead of Dr. Friedman.
Dr. Friedman died last week suddenly and unexpectedly of a heart
attack. His funeral was a few days ago."

Excuse me? Bob Friedman was in
perfect health when I saw him about 30 days ago. He looked about 65
years old (he was a few years older it turns out but so what), and
was in great shape. Yes, he could have lost a few pounds and I doubt
if he spent too much time doing aerobic exercise, but he had years
and years to live, as far as anyone could tell.

But when the penalty flag goes down,
death appears like a thief in the night and there is no appeal.

And he left some very confused people,
including his many employees who would like to continue their
practice and keep working together and probably will, but its all a
little confused because, sensibly, Bob did not expect to be leaving
anytime soon, so nothing had been arranged.

Therefore do not expect to be warned,
or rather, take this as your warning. The bell could go off at any
time, make good use of the day and see that your paperwork is in order.

This may be the only notice that you
will receive.

______________________________________________

1. It comes from something John Donne
wrote a few centuries ago. He wrote,

"No man is an Iland, intire of it
selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if
a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if
a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine
owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in
Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee."

The custom in Europe (or parts of
Europe) was to ring a single bell very slowly to announce the death
or funeral of someone in that parish. People would know to come to
the church to find out who it was tolling for, if they did not
already know.